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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27882870">bonesaw/chainsaw</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/doublejoint/pseuds/doublejoint'>doublejoint</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>One Piece</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:28:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,010</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27882870</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/doublejoint/pseuds/doublejoint</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Law is dangerous enough.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eustass Kid/Trafalgar D. Water Law</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>bonesaw/chainsaw</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“There are things I have to do,” Law says, cradling his sword closer like it’s going to fall out of his grip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He says this every time they meet, never in the same words, never in the exact same gestures, but always pulling inward, closing on himself like a cheap spinning toy slowly coming to a halt, like he’s resetting himself. Like somehow Kid’s got him off-center (which, hey, Kid tries to do and likes to do) but whatever the nebulous things he have to do are, they require some other him. He’s not two-faced, or anything close to it, but he faces things differently, plays his cards selectively, a way to live that Kid’s frankly far too impatient for. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But there’s something dangerous about Law’s hand on the hilt of the sword, his fingers curling tighter (not that he needs it to be a quick draw), a weapon well-suited to him as any (and sometimes, Kid thinks about it sticking to his own hands, the glint of that metal, what he could do with it--nothing like what Law does, but Kid doesn’t like swords much, nothing you can’t accomplish better, closer, bloodier with a dagger that you can with a sword, anyway). It’s not real, present danger, or the imminent threat of it, but if Kid were weak-willed and unobservant he’d probably shiver.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Being who he is, he smiles, wide enough to show his teeth to the back, to the points, until the skin on his lips feels like it’s about to crack apart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Things I have to do, too,” Kid says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Law looks at him as if to nod, only he doesn’t (he knows; he gets it). Across the table, he’s close enough for Kid to reach out and touch with either hand, but he’d rather reach for Law’s leg with his foot, curl his toes around Law’s calf, get Law to frown at him (but only in a mildly-disapproving way). There’s a lot Kid has to do, like find a way to the end of the Grand Line, and get proper, real revenge as much as he can, on everyone within striking distance who’s harmed his crew, however indirectly (though it’s not really worth doing right at this moment if they’re far out of the way; they’ll still be there once he’s Pirate King, and he’ll be able to do much worse then, cold revenge and all that--but it’ll still be blistering hot, because he’s not going to forget any of the things they’ve done, couldn’t even if he wanted to). There are a lot of people and a lot of places on his list, but he and Law always end up meeting anyway, like twisting wires, like a conveyor belt running over the same place on its short rotation--but which one of them is the belt, and which is holding the other in place?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kid sighs, digging his heel into Law’s shin. Law glares at him a little harder, and Kid knows he’s pushing a little bit, but where’s the fun in not doing that, especially when he knows Law’s going to eventually push back? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Kid says. “Trafalgar.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you thinking about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It would be cliche, sickly-sweet and corrosive, if it didn’t come with that smile, with Law toeing at Kid’s foot on his leg (fucking cold feet, his circulation sucks)--if it wasn’t obvious anyway, and if Kid didn’t want to hear it. It’s more that he’s pulling with the push than pushing back, Kid supposes, but—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Romantic,” Kid says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hasn’t stopped smiling. He reaches for Law with his arms, but doesn’t grab him by the sword.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>The waters ahead are empty, the horizon clear, but every time they meet Kid hopes for a fight, a common foe to blow off steam against, something to bring the danger in Law up to the surface so it can shine in the sun, a sharp and precise blade. They’d vowed to meet again in the New World, along with Straw Hat, but as far as Kid’s concerned this promise remains unfulfilled (he’s settled that with Straw Hat already, but that’s measured on a different axis). They are not standing together, fighting together in peak condition, fighting only for the purpose of winning--they have fought together, yes, but with too much attached to the fights, for too short of a time, nothing to enjoy about the situation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So until then, Kid’s going to keep the account open--not that he needs the excuse to see Law, not that he won’t want to do it again and again after that, not that there’d better be a hundred fucking times of them mowing down enemies together, sword and dagger, scalpel and gun, bonesaw and chainsaw.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>There are things Kid has to do, and if this isn’t one of them it’s a level parallel to that, a different track perhaps closer to his center. Kid’s never been particularly duty-bound; the things he needs to do are the things he wants to do. If he doesn’t relish them then what’s the goddamn point? And if he doesn’t want this, then the same question applies--and, when he piles everything together, what the hell’s the point of neat categories, set priorities, acting like everything doesn’t blur into everything else? It’s not like Law’s cutting up his mind with the sword and it’s become little cubes he’s shuffling around; it’s more like an overwhelming cacophony of sound, an orchestra of independents. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(He can still pick out the sound of Law’s particular instrument in the din if he tries, though. It’s not hard.)</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>“There’s a long way to the next island,” Kid says, conversationally. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Law gives him a sidelong look. The wind, blowing behind them, snaps at the sail.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love it when you look at me like that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like a flame two centimeters below his fingers, like steel locking next to his chin, like he’ll wait for Kid to go where he wants to go with words. Like that wandering, disjointed path is the point.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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